


Five Paces by Five Paces

by Scott_Paladin



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Drama, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scott_Paladin/pseuds/Scott_Paladin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In prison, Kuvira's life is very small and it takes the persistence of water dripping on a stone to effect a change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Paces by Five Paces

Five paces by five paces. Wooden cot. Wooden walls. Platinum chains. The constant sound of waves slapping against the hull.

Kuvira's world was very small now and it was far grander than she deserved.

There were no visitors for a long time. Life was locked in cycles of stone; wake, exercise, meals on carved trenchers, and time to think. They led her down to the baths every third day to wash herself and changed her linens every ten days. The band between her high points and low points narrowed as time stretched on. It was a good day when the guard who brought her food didn't spit in it and a bad one was when the nightmares came.

She counted the days as they passed like beats and measures; the rhythm of a life ungoverned by change, where one day will be like the next. It was an easy dance. She could remain like this, if need be, forever. She would not rot here in her little world, and in that great old world she'd nearly conquered, she'd could fade into non-existence.

She could also mark the time by the disturbances, the spikes or breaks in the routine. The storm that had rocked the prison so hard that she was flung out of bed. The day a fight had broken out between the guards and she found she could picture ever move clearly from the sounds of the footwork on the deck above. When the prison cook had been replaced and the rice had started to taste different. When she had spotted a tiny boat on the horizon from her little window.

She hadn't even known she could have visitors until she was dragged down to an austere room and presented to one. The avatar was kind to her, asked about her treatment, and talked with her for a long time. It had been the first conversation she'd had here; the guards just barked orders at her. She cried that night and couldn't figure out why.

They changed her linens twice before the avatar returned. They talked again. Her visitor wanted to know about her life in Zaofu and she told the avatar what she could bare to relive in the telling. When the offer came to rely news of the outside world, Kuvira refused. Her world was small; she wanted it small.

One morning a school of gull-fish had breached the water by her window and flown for long way before passing from view; Kuvira had stopped her exercise routine to watch them and she told the avatar about them on her next visit. She brought something for Kuvira, a sealed envelope with Bataar's clean script on it. Kuvira wedged it, unopened, into the molding of her little window and stared at it for a measure of days.

When she felt strong enough, she tore it open by moonlight and crowded herself near the light of the window to read it. She was glad they were treating him well. She was glad he said nothing of his family. The final line nearly killed her.

When she visited again, the avatar asked Kuvira if she wanted anything: books or paper to write on, perhaps some memento of her life before. She wanted nothing. They talked more and although Kuvira had not asked, the avatar talked about growing up among the White Lotus, about training night and day in guarded compound, and about the coldness of the south.

A new guard came to her prison and Kuvira recognized him. He'd worked for her outside. Where the other guards were now merely coldly hostile to her, this new one blazed with hatred. He took the job of escorting her to her bathes every three days. She didn't stop the blows when they came.

The avatar brought her a book; a history of Kyoshi Island and its namesake. She read it several times before the next visit and the two of them talked about it in depth. Kuvira couldn't decide if she admired or loathed it. The avatar questioned if it had to be one or another.

Kuvira's hair was becoming unruly and with the infrequent washing she was unable keep it clean. She asked to have it shortened. One of the guards did so with a ceramic knife. It was uneven and crude, but she was relieved to have the weight of it cut away.

It was growing cold when the avatar visited again. Kuvira did not ask why such a long time had passed since her last visit; she was owed nothing. They talked about the rebuilding of Republic City. The avatar asked if Kuvira would want others to come visit her and Kuvira said there was no one left for her but enemies and victims.

One of the guards delivered a package to her: a lap desk, paper, ink and pens. She had no idea what she would do was supposed to do with them and stowed the package beneath her cot. The cold nights were becoming too much for her thin linens. She made do.

The guard who took her to her baths grew bolder and one day held her head under the water until she could feel herself passing out. That day she spent the whole of the time meant to bathe lying on the deck recovering and trying to clear the water from her lungs.

Bolin came with the avatar on her next visit. Kuvira braced for everything he had a right to say to her, but he merely asked her about a program for the displaced she had created during their time working together. It had not been completely dissolved with her army. He said he had secured funding from some of the governors and wanted to continue it. She was confused as to why he thought he needed her consent for anything. He told her it would make him feel better.

Kuvira added another hour to her exercise routine. The additional fatigue helped her sleep at night and she didn't dream as often if she was exhausted. She didn't lie awake as long waiting for sleep to come.

The avatar asked her again about her life in Zaofu and Kuvira told her more. She told her about being called a daughter and being treated like a servant. She talked about watching the Beifongs from so close and knowing there was an invisible wall between herself and them. Unprompted, she talked about her time in the orphanage in Ba Sing Se, the feeling of having no control of her life and no protection from the world, and how she'd sworn never to live that way again.

Kuvira found a nail in her cot after they changed her linens. It was small and rust eaten; had it been caught in the laundry somehow and become tangled in her sheets? She tied it into a knot and stared at it for a long time, then sent it flying out her window and into the sea.

The first victim to visit her was that tall girl who was close with the avatar. Kuvira knew her story, could still remember the moment when she'd made her an orphan too. She was glad that she didn't cry in front the girl, but did not have the strength to look her victim in the eye. The meeting was short; not much could be said.

She wondered if she should put to paper some of her metalbending techniques. Not everything she knew had been taught. Perhaps someday, someone would be forgiving enough or distant enough to learn something from her. She retrieved the writing materials from under the cot and spent time sketching moves and forms.

Avatar Korra asked about the bruise under Kuvira's eye and she told her about the guard who hated her. Korra asked her why she hadn't defended herself and Kuvira had no answer. She asked to go back to her cell early that day.

Another letter came from Bataar. She refused to take it; his last one had said quite enough.

A new guard took her to her baths and the others suddenly seemed wary of her. Kuvira relished being able to wash in peace again.

Korra's visits became more frequent. The avatar brought books for her and more writing supplies for her work on the metalbending manual. Kuvira's sketches were becoming better, even to the point where she revisiting old ones to redraw them.

Suyin came to see her. They didn't speak during that meeting. Kuvira merely sat and locked gazes with her former mentor a long time. At last, when Suyin looked to be about to speak, she rose and stormed from the room.

There are no more visitors for a while. Kuvira found the uninterrupted routine of her life comforting. At night, she could imagine she was some cloistered monk, living her hairshirt existence from a sense of duty. Her work was going well and she hoped that someone beyond these walls would take care of the pages when she was finished with them.

Another letter arrived, but when Kuvira turned it away, the guard urged her to take it, refused to leave until Kuvira had accepted the envelope. It was not from Bataar as she had feared but instead Lord Zuko. She could not fathom what a former Firelord would have to say to her. She read the letter several times, then contemplated its contents so long that she found she had lost a whole day to it.

When Korra returned, Kuvira asked her about Ozai and his fate. She asked about Zaheer. She asked about those who had stood with her during her time spent conquering. She gave Korra a letter to be sent back to Lord Zuko and asked if Korra had been the one to have him write to her. She asked Korra why she had been the first and most frequent to visit. She asked again why Korra had saved her in the spirit wilds.

That night, she didn't sleep.

She began to write. She knew the names of some, or if not their name, at least enough to track them down. She wrote letter after letter. She didn't justify. She didn't defend. She didn't beg forgiveness. She admitted. She apologized. Over and over, to as many as she could remember. Then she wrote to whole villages. Then to whole states. She wrote to strangers. She wrote to those close to her and distant. She even wrote to Suyin.

She wrote to Bataar.

She could not wait for another visit for these to be sent. She pounded on the door to her cell and yelled until the guards came, then forced a stack of paper into the hands of the first one, the girl who had brought Zuko's letter. She had no authority to demand; she did not deserve to request, but she asked them, please, to see that these were sent as soon as possible. They seemed to agree to do so.

A few days passed before Korra returned, not a regular visit; she just appeared at Kuvira's cell door in the early morning light. Before Kuvira could fully process what was happening, the cell door was open and a pair of very strong arms had wrapped around her.

"I read what you wrote to Asami."

Kuvira felt some her strength flee from her. Her knees buckled and she found herself clinging to the other woman. "I meant it." It was hard to talk all of a sudden; her throat and mouth didn't seem to be takings order anymore. "I- I was trying to so hard to…" The words stopped coming; she buried her face in Korra's shoulder and let the wracking sobs overtake her.

"It's alright, Kuvira." She heard the avatar whisper.

It was a while before Kuvira could speak again. When she was released from the hug she rubbed an eye with the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry, Korra. I did so much wrong to so many people, even you."

"I know you're sorry; I think you have been for a while now. Figuring it out and admitting it is an important step."

"A step toward what? Forgiveness? Redemption?"

"If you want them."

Kuvira squared her jaw and looked her friend in the eye. "What I want is what I always wanted; I want to help. I thought I could do that by protecting people, even from themselves. I was wrong. I don't know if there's anything I can do, anything the world will allow me to do, but I still want to. Just tell me what I can do and I'll do it."

Korra smiled. "For now, keep writing. I'm glad you're working that manual but I'd like you to start thinking about putting the story of your journey to paper. Others might benefit from what you have learned." She started to move out of the cell, then stopped and turned back. "And if someone tries to drown you again, I'd really appreciate it if you decked them for me."

 

 


End file.
